


Get over it

by Hypatia_66



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt, Kidnapping, THRUSH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22635028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: The memory of a terrifying incident in childhood lingers, but can she now help to find Napoleon and Illya?
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin & Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin & original female character
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	Get over it

“It’s very good of you to see me, Mrs Downing,” I said when she let me in.

“Oh, please call me Venetia, everyone does.”

In her late thirties, I guess, she was remarkably beautiful. Titian-red hair and violet-blue eyes – quite a combination. The only thing to mar her beauty was the hand she held out, which was badly scarred. I tried not to grip it too hard and shook it carefully, wondering what had caused it but not liking to ask.

There was coffee waiting in her bright sitting room. “Do sit down,” she said, patting the chair next to her. “They said on the telephone that you wanted to talk to people who had had contact with some UNCLE agents?”

“That’s right. It’s for a book about the spy agencies in the sixties. I’m helping to gather information about some of the agents. The two I’m researching have disappeared into obscurity. I was hoping you might add something to what we know about them.”

She looked over as I opened my folder of newspaper cuttings and photographs and said, “Oh, my goodness. That was _such_ a long time ago – may I see?”

“Of course.” I handed her the folder.

“It was that Cold War time, wasn’t it,” she said, turning over the photos. “Not that I understood that side of things, of course, except that one of them was R… Oh…,” she bent over one of the photographs, “yes, that’s _him_. My goodness, I remember. That was an exciting night.”

I sat up, hoping for a revelation. “I was going to ask about what happened to you. An exciting night – with _him?_ Oh, I forgot, you must have been a child.”

She laughed at my embarrassment. “Yes, I was a child and he was a very sweet man. He rescued me and we had to climb over a roof and down a ladder in the dark.”

“Tell me more,” I said, “Exciting, then, not frightening?”

“It was exciting at first then became frightening.” She sat thinking. “I remember he was very strong. He carried me on his back at one point. But he didn’t treat me like a child,” she said. “No, he talked to me like an equal and didn’t even blame me for … well, not being able to climb a tree, for instance.”

“Why would you need to climb a tree?”

“To get down off the roof, of course,” she said, as if that explained everything.

“Can we start at the beginning? What did he rescue you from and why were you on a roof?”

She poured coffee, handed me a cup and sat back with her own. “My father was a wealthy business man – well, he still is. I was his only child and when I was about eight I was kidnapped,” she said.

“Gosh. That sounds frightening.”

“I was always told to keep away from bad men, but they seemed friendly, and one was a woman anyway, so I wasn’t frightened at first. It doesn’t take much to fool a kid. They said my father was coming to collect me… he was abroad and I was young enough to accept what grown-ups said, you know? I didn’t ask why, or anything. But they weren’t so nice later.”

“Who were they and where did they take you?”

“They were from a criminal organisation called Thrush – so I was told later. They took me a long way away to a big house with a wall round it, big gates, and lots of trees.”

“How did the UNCLE agent find you?”

“I don’t know but I guess the UNCLE people knew about the house.” She pointed at the photograph. “When I saw Illya looking at it over the wall, they got cross because he must have seen me looking out. They took me to a room at the top of the house to be out of the way, and then I had to go to bed.”

“But he did come and find you.”

“I found _him_ , actually – all tied up.”

<><><>

“Come away from the window, child!”

“There’s a man out there, looking over the wall.”

“Did he see you?”

“I don’t know.”

The child moved into the room and looked up a little doubtfully. “Is he a bad man, Mrs Bird?”

“Just keep away from the windows.”

“Why?”

“Because when your father comes, we want it to be a surprise.”

“Why isn’t Miss Field here?”

“Don’t keep asking. She hurt her head when we came to collect you.”

The child looked up searching the woman’s face. “Is she all right?”

“I expect so. Just forget about it.”

“She always brings colouring books for me when we go anywhere in the car – did she give them to you?”

“No. Keep quiet.”

Venetia frowned. She wanted to say something not quite polite but as she didn’t know this lady, she couldn’t.

“Mrs Bird, may I have a drink?”

“No. Later maybe.”

“When will Daddy come?”

“We’ll have to wait and see. You _must_ be quiet!”

The abruptness had its inevitable effect. Venetia sniffed and began to sob.

“Oh, my goodness, that’s all I need,” cried Mrs Bird. “You’d better go upstairs. Somebody take her out of the way.”

<><><>

With his partner away, the office was quiet. Illya Kuryakin, undisturbed, had been catching up on a pile of unread physics journals. He was fully engrossed when his concentration was broken by a summons from above. Growling a little, he made his way to Waverly’s domain.

“Mr Kuryakin, I have a job for you.”

The adrenaline rush of action was an irresistible lure, Kuryakin sat up; his frown disappeared.

“You must find and rescue an abducted child.” Waverly began, and looked searchingly at his subordinate’s suddenly less than enthusiastic expression.

“Sir?”

“She is the only child of a rich businessman – her mother is dead – and she was kidnapped earlier today. Her nanny, Miss Annette Field, was found this morning in the family home on the Upper East Side. She is now in hospital with head injuries – not too serious, I believe. Neighbours saw nothing, of course.”

“Do we know where they took her?”

“I’m coming to that, Mr Kuryakin. We’ve been watching a house in Connecticut that was recently bought by people you may know. We think she has been taken there. A large car has been seen arriving, and one of its occupants was a little girl with red hair.” Waverly handed him the address and produced a file with some photographs. “This is her. She’s called Venetia.”

“Who owns the house?”

“Mr and Mrs Bird.”

“Bird? Ah.”

“Quite so.”

<><><>

“I woke up in the night, and was thirsty,” said Venetia.

She had drunk all the water in her glass earlier so she thought she’d go to the bathroom to refill it. Someone had forgotten to lock her door and, as it didn’t occur to her that she might have been locked in, she wasn’t surprised when it opened.

“On my way back, I went the wrong way in the dark and when tried to open my door it was locked and I realised it was a different room. But the key was there.” She smiled and said, “I felt like Alice in Wonderland, and turned it very quietly and crept in to see if the White Rabbit or something was in there. But it wasn’t the White Rabbit, but a man, _this_ man – Illya – all tied up.”

<><><>

There was a low light in a corner, enough to reveal a figure lying on the bed. She stared. He was all in black, and there was a black scarf tied round his mouth and eyes. She could see that his hands and feet were also tied and she could hear his ragged breathing.

She approached the bed cautiously and put the glass down on the table with a slight click. The man on the bed stiffened and made a muffled sound. She tentatively pulled at the wrapping to free his face and mouth and stared into weary blue eyes, one of which was bruised and swollen.

“Why are you tied up?” she whispered. “Are you a bad man?”

“Someone thought so but I’m quite good when you get to know me,” he replied. “You must be Venetia. My name is Illya. I’ve come to rescue you.”

This was less than convincing in the circumstances, and she said, “But my Daddy is coming to get me.”

“No, Venetia, it’s a …” he was going to say ‘trap’, but she was very young and he didn’t want to frighten her. “That’s not quite true. We need to leave before he comes. They aren’t nice people here.”

That seemed to confirm something already in the child’s mind. “They pretended to be nice, but I thought they weren’t,” she said, sounding relieved.

“So… can you untie my hands for me?”

Her fingers were small and not very strong, but once his hands were free he bent to untie his ankles, though it made him gasp painfully. He sat up again carefully. “How did you get in?” he whispered.

“There’s a key in the door. I unlocked it.”

“They left a key?” Startled, he looked at her then went quickly to the door, which still stood ajar. Withdrawing the key, he closed the door, locked it and put the key in his pocket. Then he went to the window and looked out into the dark. He turned.

“Venetia, I’m going to climb out onto the roof to see if there’s a way down. Can you keep absolutely quiet while I’m gone?” Seeing her face drop, he added, “I’m coming back, don’t worry. If anyone comes to the door and speaks, don’t make a sound.”

She nodded, wide-eyed; he opened the window and was about to climb out, when they both heard voices. The door handle rattled. Someone said, “Who’s gone off with the key?”

“Quick!” Illya whispered, beckoning, “you must come too.”

He helped her out and said, “It’s quite safe, there’s a parapet. Keep down and keep very quiet.” He saw her scramble along a little way and climbed out himself, closing the window behind him. Joining her, he put a finger to his lips and pointed towards the dark shadow of a chimney stack where they could sit hidden.

<><><>

Napoleon Solo arrived back to be greeted by an empty office and an immediate call to Mr Waverly’s office

“I’m afraid Mr Kuryakin may have met with adversity,” Waverly began before Napoleon had even sat down. “There has been no word since he left to follow the trail of a kidnapping.”

“A kidnapping?”

“A young child has been abducted by Thrush agents.”

“Do we know what has happened to him?”

“ _Her_ , Mr Solo, her.”

“I meant Illya, sir. What happened to _him_?”

Waverly’s eyebrows bristled a little. “He went to a house where we believe the child was taken, but hasn’t checked in since. He either didn’t arrive or was otherwise detained trying to get in.” He handed Solo the address and a photograph. “This is the child.”

Napoleon looked at the image. “How old is she?”

“About eight.”

“Pretty little thing,” he remarked.

“She has an unusual name – Venetia,” he said, adding a little soulfully, “There were two famous beauties in history, both called Venetia Stanley and distantly related I believe.”

“She’s well named then – so far, at least. Wonder what she’ll be like when she’s older.”

“Still too young for you, Mr Solo,” said Waverly tartly.

<><><>

No-one had the key and when they broke the lock, the Birds found their captive had flown.

“You sure you didn’t catch Houdini, there?” said one, examining the ropes.

“Where’s the key? What fool tied him up? Come on! Who was it? Why wasn’t he handcuffed to the bed?”

“It’s a divan, stupid. There’s nothing to handcuff him to.”

In the uproar of recriminations and rage, it was several minutes before someone thought to check on the child.

“She’s gone!” came the cry.

“Search the grounds! They can’t have got far.”

<><><>

“We sat for what seemed like ages till the shouting died away,” Venetia said. “And then it started again from below when the people came out to search and lights came on. Illya asked me if I was cold because I was only in pyjamas, but I said I was all right sitting with his arm around me because he was nice and warm. Then he said, cool as you please, ‘That’s good because I’m afraid we’ll have to stay up here a bit longer’.”

<><><>

After a while, there was the sound of gravel scattering as vehicles raced off towards the gates. Illya turned to Venetia. “Shall we look for a way down now?”

She nodded.

“Don’t stand up, there may still be people watching,” he said very softly. “We must crawl along very quietly, so don’t even speak.”

He went ahead on hands and knees with Venetia following. The floodlights had gone out and it seemed a long way in the darkness. Then light from a window below illuminated a tree. It stood so close to the house that a branch hung over the parapet and obstructed their passage. Illya stopped to see if it offered an escape route. “Have you ever climbed a tree?” he whispered.

“No,” she said and saw him shrug.

“Pity.” He led the way past the obstruction until they turned a corner where they found the top of a ladder rising above the parapet. When Illya looked over, he saw that it was a somewhat rickety fire escape that zigzagged down to windows on the side wall of the house. Without light it was potentially lethal for a little girl in bare feet and pyjamas. Safer to carry her on his back.

He explained what he wanted. “Can you manage that, do you think?”

“You won’t fall, will you?”

“Of course not. Hold tight and we’ll both be fine.”

Being consulted as if she were an adult and this were a perfectly normal activity was curiously reassuring and she agreed to try. He crouched to let her put her arms round his neck and rose so that she could wrap her legs round his waist. She heard him take an agonised breath, but all he said was, “Don’t strangle me,” and as she relaxed her grip, asked, “Comfortable?”

She nodded against his neck and clung tight as he stepped over the parapet and onto a rung of the ladder.

The darkness hid them. Illya took it slowly, moving his grip carefully down the supports as he stepped from rung to rung. Neither of them spoke: Illya because, with her on his back, the cracked rib from the beating they had given him made breathing painful, and Venetia because she feared to distract him in case he fell and dropped her.

At the bottom he discovered that the ladder went right down to the cellars and the hole it passed through at ground level was surrounded by a spiked railing. He was considering whether to step onto the top rail between the spikes and jump down, when he heard the sound of a returning vehicle. He got his head below the edge of the hole just as the vehicle’s lights struck it.

“If you get down you can put your feet on the ladder,” he whispered, and as she slid down, “that’s it.”

“It’s cold,” she said.

“Climb round in front of me, then, and stand on my feet. Keep your arms round me.”

She laid her cheek against his chest, feeling the beating of his heart and the dampness of sweat. There was still a catch in his breathing. She wondered if he was frightened too.

There was a distant sound of voices, the closing of a car door, then silence. “Shall we see if we can climb out?” he said.

“Have they gone in?” she asked.

“I hope so.”

They climbed up again, this time separately. Illya, now unable to see much, felt around the railings for a catch. There must be a gate for access to the ladder, surely? Yes, here.

<><><>

“What happened then?” I asked. Her story had my hair on end – I don’t like heights.

“He helped me out and climbed out himself, and then he let me climb on his back again to keep warm.” She paused, thinking back. “He said that we might have to get over the walls because of the guards on the gate. But I didn’t know he was already hurt and couldn’t do it.” Her face crumpled a little as a memory came to her.

“But you did get away,” I said, trying to be reassuring.

“Yes, we did in the end. The people from UNCLE arrived, but not in time to prevent what happened… I thought I was going to die… I thought he was dead…” And now, to my acute embarrassment, she covered her eyes with a handkerchief.

I couldn’t think what to say, so I said nothing, just waited till she recovered her self-possession.

“Is that when your hand…” I began.

“Yes. Not too pretty, is it,” she said. “The scar would be a daily reminder, if I let it.” She took a sip of coffee, glanced at me and said, “I really don’t think about it now, but this brings it all back.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“It’s over, we all survived,” and she smiled at me. “Shall I go on?”

“Yes please, if you will.”

<><><>

“I’m sorry, I must put you down,” said Illya. He was coughing a little. Venetia slid down and looked up at him anxiously. He was holding his side and breathing strangely. She didn’t know what to do. Grown-ups looked after children, not the other way around.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“Cracked rib,” he gasped. “Come on, we must get to that wall,” and, forgetting the sensors that detected movement, he took her hand and staggered towards the shrubs that lined the wall. The garden was suddenly floodlit; Illya started to run, pulling Venetia with him. They reached the shrubbery and lay down under it listening.

There was the sound of voices. Illya tensed.

Someone said, “Can’t see anything. Could have been a fox. Those lights come on for the least thing.”

“Keep looking. Where’s that dog?”

The voices moved away and Illya dropped his head onto his arm.

“Will they hurt you again if they find us?” said the child.

“Don’t worry, Venetia, I’ll be all right.”

“But they didn’t hurt _me_ so if I go to them, you could get away and rescue me later… couldn’t you?”

“Oh, Venetia.” His voice was muffled by his arm. He’d made such a mess of it…he didn’t think he could climb anything now… and she didn’t realise what the dog would mean.

Its sudden barking put paid to any idea of self-sacrifice. It raced across the grass and into the shrubs to find them and as Venetia tried to protect Illya’s head from its teeth, it sank them into her hand and dragged her away. She screamed piercingly. Illya got to his feet and tried to run after her, but the broken rib had done its damage and he collapsed. The last thing Venetia saw before they stopped the dog from mangling her hand was his body lying still, his hair gleaming in the light, and she became hysterical with pain and terror.

<><><>

Napoleon drove fast. It was getting late and with back-up so far behind, he was afraid of being _too_ late. He had to stop to look at the map once to find the right turning for the house. At last, there it was… all lit up. The gates were shut and there was no-one on guard. He pulled up beyond them, got out, only to hear heard the barking of a dog, shouting and screams. Now he ran and found the gates locked.

There was commotion inside: angry voices and growling as well as a child’s terrified screaming. It was the latter that impelled Napoleon’s Kuryakin-like leap for the top of the wall. From its vantage point he took in the scene in the glare of light, but could see no sign of Illya till he looked away from the central struggle and saw a figure lying on the ground. The hair proclaimed its identity. With a grunt of dismay he let himself down from the wall and, keeping out of sight, ran through the bushes to reach him. There was surely no way he could escape detection, everything was so brightly lit, but nevertheless he crawled out to lie next to his partner and find out whether he was still alive. He touched Illya’s neck and found a weak pulse still beating. He breathed again. No-one seemed to have observed him so far, so he slid back out of the light and opened his communicator to call the back-up team.

“Where are you all?” he whispered into it. “Hurry!”

“We’re here, Napoleon. Just gonna break down the gate.”

The resulting noise distracted all attention from this part of the garden so he was able to slither out again and investigate Illya’s injuries further.

“Come on, little friend, wake up! Rise and shine!” The exhortation failed to rouse his partner. He could hear broken, rasping breathing and there was blood coming from Illya’s mouth.

The dog escaping from capture now headed their way, barking furiously. Napoleon rolled over, drew his weapon, fired a dart at it and it fell to the ground in mid leap. He stood up and ran towards his team who were dealing with several people lying where they had been shot with darts. Someone was looking after the little girl who was now weeping as her hand was dressed.

“Get a stretcher over here, quick!” Napoleon shouted, pointing back at Illya’s body. “And be careful with him – I think his lung is punctured.”

He went to the child and bent over her. “Venetia? My name’s Napoleon – you’re safe now. We’ve come to rescue you.”

She wept even harder, “That’s what _Illya_ said… and now he’s dead!”

“No, honey, he’s not dead.”

A tear-stained face looked up at him disbelievingly. “He’s not dead?”

“No. He’s not very well, but he’s not dead. Don’t worry. We’re going to take you both to the hospital.”

<><><>

Venetia stopped speaking and there was silence for a while. She was looking down at her hand. I watched her and when she met my eyes, I said, “Not many children have gone through such a terrible experience.”

“I hope not – though I guess it happens in war.” She smiled gravely. “I could never bear dogs near me afterwards, and I had nightmares for years… not just about dogs, but about Illya … falling and dying, things like that. I used to wonder if he had nightmares too.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. From what I’ve read, they went through a lot, he and Napoleon.”

“Did you say something about not being able to find them?” she asked suddenly.

“Yes. They both left UNCLE, no-one really knows why, and no-one seems to know where they are now.”

“I wish I could help you. Illya was still under treatment when my father came to collect me from the hospital and I never saw him again. Nobody would tell me if he was all right. They used to keep things from children in those days – they thought you’d forget that way.”

“I guess so. What about Napoleon?”

“Same thing. He came to see me sometimes in the hospital, and when I was allowed to visit Illya he was always there. My father had a letter from someone at UNCLE explaining everything, but I never heard any more. Life moved on… so, of course, I don’t know what happened to them. They must be quite old, now.”

We chatted some more about her life since, then I rose to leave, “Well, Mrs Downing – Venetia – thank you so much for your time and I’m sorry that going back to that memory was so distressing.”

“If you find him, will you let me know? Illya was very brave, despite being so badly hurt. I’d like to see him again to thank him,“ she said. “And Napoleon, of course.”

“Sure. Of course I will.”

<><><>

“She’s quite safe, and well, Mr Kuryakin. Her hand won’t look very good but she can use it, which is the main thing.”

“Nevertheless, I’d like to see her again, to thank her.”

“For what?”

“She wanted to give herself up to save me – and, if it hadn’t been for her, that dog would have torn my throat out. So it savaged _her_ instead, a brave, innocent child.”

“Better to let the child forget. Children do, you know. No, you mustn’t contact her. That’s an order.”

Kuryakin looked at him almost fiercely. “She won’t forget,” he said. “Children don’t. Excuse me, sir.” And he turned and walked out of Waverly’s office.

Waverly raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and sat down. He’d get over it; young men did.

<><><><>


End file.
